


If Your Heart is With Someone Who Doesn't Want It, Are You Then Homeless?

by mirwrites



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Grantaire and Enjolras are just figuring things out, Homeless Grantaire, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, attempt at slow burn, grantaire moves in with enjolras, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirwrites/pseuds/mirwrites
Summary: Enjolras discovers that Grantaire has been homeless, so he invites him to live with him. Grantaire, prone to making bad choices, agrees.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Jehan - Relationship, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. How Am I Going to Get Myself Back Home?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic on this site! I will try to make it slow burn, but I'm a little bad at doing things the slow way. I do things too speedy. Speedy fast. But only plot-wise. Make no mistake, it takes me a while to write and edit.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Grantaire knew something was off the second he walked through the doors of the Musain. 

Well, maybe not quite then. But he did notice the stares of his peers as he strolled into the meeting halfway through, already inebriated and looking mildly ill. As he sat down at his usual table, next to Joly and Bossuet, he could feel Enjolras’ eyes burning into him. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Joly said as he poured him some whiskey and slid it across the table. Grantaire nodded to acknowledge him, grabbing the mug of whiskey and turning to face Enjolras as he locked eyes with him. Grantaire took a purposeful sip of his drink. He wanted to see the disapproval in Enjolras’ face, the disgust in his eyes, the way his nose would slightly flare when someone did something he would approve of-- the pain of it all helped him cope. 

It was already at the point where the speeches had ended and the planning in each group had begun. Grantaire was glad about that; there was no way he was sober enough to understand or refute whatever bullshit Enjolras was spewing this week. 

“I am suffering from the woes of melancholia, my friends,” Grantaire announced to no one in particular, but said it just loud enough to earn a glance from his favorite leader in red. Joly hummed. 

“Maybe you need more alcohol,” Bossuet suggested. 

“No, Bossuet, I think he needs a hug,” Joly argued. “Besides, all that drinking will kill your liver. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“You’re not a doctor  _ yet. _ You’re in med school.”

“Who even needs a liver?” Grantaire asked at the same time

“I’m more of a doctor than  _ you,” _ Joly pointed at Bossuet, who gave that some thought and shrugged as he downed the last of his drink. Turning to Grantaire, Joly continued. “And we all need livers, R! We can’t live without them.” 

Grantaire sighed loudly, mumbling about the lameness of a liver.

“Friends, I come to you today, for I am tormented frequently by the faces of the wealthy, who bare to me their pristine and perfect selves without so much a second thought. It is really quite unfortunate; had I not been born the way I was, I could have been something more than the sad Bacchanalian I am now.” 

“‘Aire, that isn’t what you are, and you know it.”

Bossuet cut in. “Actually, he may have a point about that,” he said. Joly elbowed him, not hard enough to leave a bruise. He looked back at Grantaire. 

“You want sympathy right now,” Grantaire sighed again and rested the side of his warm face against the cool table. 

“Maybe. But that is not all of my problems. See, I am in love with Apollo. Yet, as I am a below average mortal with questionable morals at best, he does not love me.” 

“Oh, my dear, sweet, Capital R.”

Grantaire felt a hand-- Joly’s, based on the strong scent of hand sanitizer-- on his head, gently brushing his wild hair from his face. 

“You are significantly greasier than normal, my friend.”

Grantaire lamented his fate. The thoughts in his mind were dark, too dark to share with his friends at this very moment. His circumstances seemed grim these days-- and Grantaire, having been too drunk to bother refuting his sorrows, felt as though his life was ending. The weight on his shoulders and chest was suffocating-- since he had lost his job a little over a week ago, he had not been able to pay his rent(again; his landlord finally gave up and evicted him). He had no home to go to. For three days, Grantaire had been living out on the streets. The action was not new to him-- it was one he knew all too well, and it was that matter that depressed him so. 

“I’m a drunk, Joly. That must affect sweatiness, which would then make me greasier,” Grantaire said after a few more moments of moping. “Shouldn’t you, my closest and dearest friend--” 

“What the fuck,” Bossuet exclaimed rather loudly, jumping up from his place on the booth, drawing a few surprised glances from the others in the Musain. Most of their friends were used to the random outbursts that came from the various tables. Occasionally, there would be a burst of passion, or a rant that was elevating in volume. More than once, it had been a dramatic reading of a poem that Jehan thought was relevant to whichever topic was being discussed. This fact did not stop curiosity. 

“Sorry, Bossuet. My closest, dearest  _ doctor _ friend,” Grantaire corrected himself, which seemed to please Bossuet well enough. As he got back into his seat, he reached over to give Grantaire a comforting pat. His hand bumped the bottle of whiskey that the three were sharing, spilling it onto Grantaire. He could hear Joly fretting over it, warning him he may get a cold, but it was more background noise. The drunkard sighed again, closing his eyes and willing the whiskey to drown him. A warm hand was placed on his shoulder and he could faintly smell citrus-- Enjolras’ favorite scent(a fact Grantaire only knew from his obsession with his friend). Enjolras was touching him. 

“Can I steal you for a second, Grantaire? I would like to speak with you,” Enjolras said. Grantaire knew that he had leaned down to whisper it, because he could feel Enjolras’ warm breath on his ear. He shivered. Without replying, Grantaire sat up and looked at the leader. His expression delineated a challenge. 

“This is something that you may prefer to be discussed in a more private location,” Enjolras was cautious with his words, choosing each one deliberately before he spoke. Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up, motioning for Enjolras to lead him to wherever. He hoped his compatriot would not notice the mantle of red that rested upon his face.

As it turned out, wherever was just the hallway. Enjolras leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and a slight scowl across his face. Grantaire felt hideously exposed. 

“You were late today, which normally is not a big deal, but I noticed something,” Enjolras started. Grantaire stared at his shoes, which were suddenly very interesting. “You were drunk.”

“I’m a drunk,” Grantaire replied flatly. Enjolras did not feign amusement, nor did he sound angry when he spoke again.

“Normally, when you’re late, it is because you are finishing up a shift at your job. Since you were drunk coming in, that means that you either drank on your shift or you did not attend your shift.” 

“Maybe I was off today.”

“That was another consideration. However, you would have to have been off for the past week, because Courfeyrac didn’t see you in the cafe on his way to class.” 

“Do you guys normally discuss me?” Grantaire asked as he looked up at Enjolras, who now had a faint, pink blush across his face. 

“Only when you especially concern me.”

“Oh,” Grantaire didn’t know how to respond, for he was blindsided by that answer. He shifted his weight between his feet. “I’m sorry.” 

Enjolras reached out to him, briefly allowing a reassuring hand to rest on his shoulder before withdrawing it. Grantaire, startled, gazed into his eyes, ever blue and ever somber. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Heh, well," Grantaire began, deciding that he would need the wall to get through this. He leaned on the wall next to Enjolras and continued. "I lost my job. And I couldn’t pay my rent again, so the landlord gave me the boot. I haven’t been sober since, and I don’t even really remember what I’ve been doing. I’ve just been floating, I guess.” 

Enjolras hummed. The scowl on his face deepened, but the rest of his features were obscured by the shadows on his face, formed from the dim lighting of the Musain. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” 

“Ha. Nope. I haven’t told the others. I don’t plan on it.” 

“Then…” Enjolras turned his body towards Grantaire and gently rested one of his fine hands on Grantaire's arm. “Come home with me.” 

Grantaire’s blood ran cold. “I couldn’t-- What?” 

His mind was racing. His stomach filled with dread. If he agreed, Enjolras would see how disgusting Grantaire truly was. He spent his days and nights drunk during times like this, unable to catch himself during the freefall. Enjolras would hate him for sure. Whatever chance there was for a friendship would surely be ruined. 

“I want you to come home with me. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” Enjolras’ voice was soft, and  _ shit, _ how could Grantaire say no to him? The genuine care on his face was almost heartbreaking; it was unfair, really, how Grantaire could be so easily persuaded by Enjolras.

Grantaire took a few steps away from said man. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and suddenly he felt glad that there was such obnoxious elevator music playing; otherwise, Enjolras would definitely hear his heart. Enjolras, on the other hand, kept himself planted against the wall. He slowly retracted his hand to his side. He raised his eyebrows slightly at Grantaire, prompting him for an answer. 

“I--” Grantaire cursed under his breath, running his hands through his greasy, whiskey-filled hair. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go home with you. Just," he clenched his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm not a great person to be around." 

"We can work around that," Enjolras replied gently. Grantaire could tell that Enjolras really wanted to help, and it was perhaps the genuine tone in the leader's voice that made Grantaire stupid enough not to argue. He just stared back at his shoes. Enjolras could sense the insecurity, though, and reached out once again to grab Grantaire's hand. This prompted the dark-haired man to look back up at his friend. 

Grantaire agreed.

The best thing about Joly and Bossuet is that they waited for Grantaire to tell them things when he was ready. They were not like Jehan, who would coax him into telling them things with wine and amicable cuddles. His two friends had another glass of whiskey poured for Grantaire before he had even sat down.

\---

Grantaire had lost track of time because he had fallen asleep on the table after having several more glasses of whiskey. He only awoke when Enjolras gently nudged him awake. 

"Couf and 'Ferre are just clearing out. It's half past eleven. Are you ready to go?" 

Grantaire groaned and desperately wished he was still asleep, his brain too foggy with exhaustion and alcohol to properly process. Enjolras nudged him again, a little less gentle this time. 

"C'mon, Grantaire. It's a short walk," Enjolras pulled Grantaire to his feet. Grantaire tossed his bag over his shoulder-- it contained his art materials and some clothes, which were actually everything that Grantaire owned at the moment -- and allowed Enjolras to lead him from the Cafe and out onto the streets. The pavement was damp from the rainfall that had occurred intermittently throughout the day, and mist was visible in the lamplight. Cold nipped Grantaire's face. He shivered. 

"Do you want to bathe when we get there?" Enjolras asked, trying to cut into the awkward silence between them. Grantaire grunted and thoroughly curbed the attempt at conversation. Thus, there was a tangible discomfort in the air between them, a harsh contrast to the lukewarm mood earlier. The stupor of drunkenness had claimed Grantaire’s abilities to properly and effectively socialize; as it were, he was just following Enjolras. This was no different from usual, so it was simple enough. Had he been just a bit more sober, he would have noticed the concern written all over Enjolras’ face as he watched his drunk friend, keeping a closer distance than normal to catch him if he were to stumble. 

Eventually, they got to Enjolras’ apartment-- Olympus, surely, for that is where the gods lived. 

“‘S’Smaller than I thought it’d be,” Grantaire commented as he looked around from the doorway. And it was true; the kitchen, living room, and dining room were all connected. There was a single doorway, which led to what Grantaire assumed was Enjolras’ bedroom. Since there were no other doors, Grantaire deduced that one would have to go through Enjolras’ room to reach the restroom.

As for furniture: everything Enjolras owned was used. He never bought new. A couch was in the center of the living room and a small table was in front of it(on which was Enjolras’ laptop). There was a small dinner table with only four chairs, and there were various shelves of books and other school material lined against the walls. 

Enjolras flushed as Grantaire stared around his home. 

“Sorry, I know it isn’t much,” Enjolras gently placed a hand on Grantaire’s arm to regain his attention. Grantaire shrugged his hand off. In the state he was in, any touch from Enjolras could be dangerous.

“It’s more than what I have, isn’t it?” he replied dryly. Enjolras pressed his lips together and scowled slightly, considering this. He then noticed Grantaire’s backpack, haphazardly flung across the drunkard’s shoulders. Grantaire, who was still reeking of alcohol and swaying on his feet, panicked as Enjolras moved towards him to put his backpack away. He backed away, but he tripped over his feet and fell backwards. He had reached for Enjolras, and Enjolras had grabbed for him as well, but he still fell flat on his ass. 

“What the hell?” Grantaire cursed as he tried to get back up-- the room was not helping by rapidly spinning around. He could still see Enjolras towering over him, and he tried swatting his hands away.

“Stop--” Enjolras cut off after the crisp sound of skin hitting skin. Enjolras quickly backed away, touching his hand to his face and looking at Grantaire with obvious surprise. The expression was quickly hidden again and Grantaire could feel the tension grow once again. Enjolras walked away and returned with a glass of water, which he then all but shoved into Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire drank it guiltily. 

“You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a bucket or something. If you need to use the restroom, you need to go through my room. I’ll leave the light on.”

Grantaire only nodded his head, staring at the ground ahead of him.

Enjolras, at least, set the couch up nicely for Grantaire-- there was a pillow and two blankets. He fell asleep quickly that night. 

The next morning, Grantaire awoke to the sound of a shower running. His head was pounding and his eyes were blurry, and in a moment of panic, he did not know where he was. But then, the shower switched off. Through the cracked door of the bedroom, Grantaire saw Enjolras quickly cross the room, wrapped in a towel. A pit formed in Grantaire’s stomach, his mind desperately trying to remember the previous night. 

_ Oh. Right.  _

A few moments later, Enjolras came out of the bedroom. His eyes instantly connected with Grantaire's. 

"Good morning," Grantaire greeted amicably, already much friendlier without the major effects of alcohol making him numb.

"I think we should set some ground rules," Enjolras replied as he walked past Grantaire and went into the kitchen. Grantaire followed, curious.

In the kitchen, which was cramped with two people in it, Enjolras filled his coffee machine with water. His hair was wet still, and the curls desperately were trying to form under the weight of the water. The back of Enjolras’ shirt was wet, as well. Grantaire still thought he looked as beautiful and ethereal as ever, and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, began to reach for one of the blond’s curls. Enjolras turned at the same time, which resulted in Grantaire’s hand being only a few inches from his face. The man blinked and one of his thin, blond eyebrows rose. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire said as he quickly withdrew his hand. Enjolras shook his head and sighed as he walked past Grantaire to sit at the dining table, two cups of coffee in tow. Grantaire hesitantly sat down across from him. “So, you were talking about rules?” 

That, at least, seemed to perk Enjolras up slightly. He set the coffee down in front of Grantaire and held his own close to his chest as he leaned back in the dining room chair. He took a sip of the coffee and wrinkled his nose, which may have caused Grantaire’s heart to bleed. 

“Less getting shit-faced,” Enjolras began. “Try to use your words instead of, uh, smacking.” 

Grantaire felt a fresh wave of guilt crash into him, but he still risked looking up at Enjolras. To his delight, the latter hardly looked offended anymore. Grantaire allowed himself to grin softly in a silent apology.

“My apartment is obviously small and there are not a lot of places to retreat to if you need it, so if you do need some alone time, just let me know."

“What about jerking off?” Grantaire asked, mostly just to get a reaction out of Enjolras. Grantaire could not tell if it was fortunate or unfortunate when the man’s face remained the same.

“The shower. Then rinse everything down the drain when you’re done.”

“Is that what you do?” 

Enjolras looked unimpressed. “Sometimes it helps to relax," he said with a shrug. Grantaire nodded silently. He reached for the cup of coffee before him and held it up, inspecting the mug. He would  _ definitely _ not think about that the next time he showered. Nope. Not at all. He felt his face heat up and he could tell he was being stared at. 

"I could set up an area for you to paint in my room, if you would like me to." 

Grantaire looked away from the mug and at Enjolras' face. The other man was staring with an unnecessary amount of intensity for so early in the morning. 

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Grantaire replied. Enjolras frowned and took a drink of his coffee. 

"If I am offering and inviting you, I don't think you could intrude. It would be no hassle, anyway." 

"My artistic inspiration comes erratically and at any time of the day." 

"I am a heavy sleeper," Enjolras countered, clearly unwilling to back down. Grantaire held up his hands in defense, sighing. 

“If you insist. Be warned, I am no Da Vinci or Michelangelo.” 

Enjolras shrugged at that. “Practice makes perfect, no?” 

Grantaire found that he could not disagree with that. The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Enjolras spoke again. 

“Do you need to shower? I saw Bossuet baptize you with alcohol last night,” the corners of Enjolras’ mouth were slightly upturned, and his chin was jutted slightly out. Grantaire, then, became very conscious of how he must have looked-- and  _ shit. _ He must be on a new level of ugly right now.

“I probably should. Unless rain and sweat count as showering, it’s been a while,” Grantaire aimed for a joke, but his words just made Enjolras frown and nod his head once, before the blond got up and disappeared inside his room for a few moments. He came back out with a neatly folded pile of clothing and held it out to Grantaire. 

“I am unsure what state your clothing is in, so forgive me if this is inappropriate, but if you need them,” Enjolras shrugged to finish the sentence, letting it hang. Grantaire’s face should not have heated up so much at the gesture. The idea of him wearing Enjolras clothes-- 

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely, as he accepted the clothing. Enjolras went back to his chair and sat back down. Grantaire took some time to look through the pile-- sweatpants, a plain green tee-shirt, and blue boxer shorts. Grantaire flushed, and he opened his mouth to protest. No words came out initially, but he managed to croak out, “That’s gay.”

Enjolras snorted and raised his eyebrow at the other. His chin jutted out again-- was he  _ inspecting  _ him?-- and his arms folded across his chest. “Grantaire, with all due respect, I have seen you make out with at least half of the  _ Amis _ .” 

Grantaire could feel his blush deepen, and, basing by how hot his face felt, he could only assume that he looked as embarrassed as he felt. He knew it wasn’t sexual in any way, but the idea of wearing such an intimate item from someone he so loved was not an easy pill to swallow. Enjolras’ gaze softened slightly. 

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want. But those sweatpants can,” he scrunched his face up and his hand was rolling before he continued, “They don’t leave much to the imagination.” 

Grantaire’s eyebrows went up, and  _ finally _ , he could use something Enjolras said as a shield. 

“You tryna size me up?” he asked with a small smirk. It was Enjolras turn to blush, and it felt good. 

“They’re the most comfortable pair of sweatpants I own,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire’s stomach fell, and it no longer felt good, because Enjolras was just being nice to him, and Grantaire was fucking it up by being an asshole once again. 

“Oh,” was all he could get out. He made a few attempts to explain, but they didn’t really work out and Enjolras was beginning to look sympathetic. He pointed to the general direction of the restroom and said, “shower.” 

Enjolras nodded and got up from his seat. Grantaire had no choice but to follow him to the restroom, where Enjolras was squatting on the ground in front of his sink. He handed back a towel and a washcloth before he got up, nodded at Grantaire, and squeezed his way through the tight space to exit the bathroom. He even closed the door on the way out. Grantaire placed the clothes and the towel onto the toilet lid. He had been avoiding it, but he figured he should probably look at himself and inspect the damage. 

He was not really prepared for what he saw. Sure, it  _ looked _ like him, but only if he was a shell. 

__ _ I kind of am, _ he thought, which he considered fair enough, all things considered. His hair was definitely grosser than normal, and the stubble on his face was more representing a beard. And it was not flattering. Though, he figured he was fortunate enough, considering his dark skin slightly masked the purple underneath his eyes. Slightly. 

Grantaire turned away from the mirror and looked at the task at hand. Enjolras’ shower curtain was pink and had ducks on it, and it made a warm feeling overcome him. To know that Enjolras’ bathroom had just a trace of normal to it-- to know that Enjolras was not just a static revolutionary-- was oddly reassuring. He felt more comfortable when he turned the water on and undressed, and when he stepped under the water, he felt himself relax even further. 

The warmth of the water really felt good, especially as it washed away the layers of dirt and grime that had accumulated. Grantaire practically moaned when he began washing his hair, using Enjolras’ lemon-scented shampoo and conditioner. 

He washed his body and face and then got out of the shower, towel dried himself, and put on the clothing( _ Enjolras’  _ clothing). Then he inspected himself in the mirror again. He tried to flatten his hair, but his dark curls were having none of that. He gave up and gathered his dirty clothing and towel. 

“How was your shower?” Enjolras asked, not looking up from his computer, when Grantaire stepped into the living room. 

“Orgasmic,” Grantaire replied, purposefully blunt, and Enjolras turned towards him with a questioning glance and a pink-tinted face. 

“I’m glad,” he said slowly, and then, noticing the items in Grantaire’s arms, “There is a hamper in my room, and you can hang the towel on the back of the door.” 

Grantaire hung his towel and tossed his clothing into the hamper. Then he made his way over to Enjolras and plopped down onto the couch, close enough that their legs were touching. Enjolras only looked mildly surprised. 

“You smell a lot better,” he commented nonchalantly as he focussed on whatever it was he was doing on his computer. Grantaire could not tell-- Enjolras was reading something, but the print was too small for Grantaire to make out clearly. 

“Whatcha reading about?” 

“It’d bore you,” Enjolras warned. Grantaire snorted. 

“Look, there are two outcomes to this,” he started. “Either you’re reading something that I will actually enjoy discussing, and we will have a nice conversation,  _ or _ you’ll be right. In which case, it’d give me something to tease you for, and I’ll get to see your angry face in the comfort of your own home, while dressed in your clothes, still damp from showering in your shower and using your soaps--” Grantaire raised his eyebrows suggestively. Enjolras sighed, still focussed on the screen. 

“I’m just studying. It isn’t that interesting, ‘Taire.” 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t give me much to work with.”

“It’s law stuff surrounding inheritance and the likes,” Enjolras leaned back on the couch and turned his head to look at Grantaire. He sounded exhausted. 

Grantaire felt guilty, suddenly, about the whole situation. He was an intruder in Enjolras’ house, and yet the man continued to show him hospitality. Even though Grantaire had already messed up the second he was in his friend’s house, the man was being patient and kept extending his hand to help the drunkard in any way he could. Enjolras must have seen whatever changed in his facial expression because he reached over and squeezed Grantaire's bicep reassuringly. Grantaire felt the contact as one may feel flames on the skin and he was too distracted by it to notice his own hand moving to cover Enjolras'. 

Neither of them moved or said anything for a while, both glad for the moment of camaraderie between them. Enjolras was the first to break the bond, moving his hand away to open a new tab on his computer. 

“Right,” Enjolras said definitely, “Let’s find you a job.”


	2. The Splitting of the Triumvirate leads to Jehan's Hugs 'n' Drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Courfeyrac take a joke too far
> 
> tw for implied sex stuff, recreational drug usage, near/implied panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didnt proof read this and I am posting on mobile so sorry if this kind of sucks lol

As Grantaire was clocking out of work at 2300, he was alerted of a message by his phone lighting up. He glanced around to make sure that he was really alone-- that is, he wanted to make sure no customers were around, which was a little silly, considering it was already after close-- and read the messages, which were from Enjolras.

_hey could u do me a favor?_   
_Ferre and Couf are over n we are discussing the next meeting, but we ran out of the gluten free crackers that Ferre really likes_   
_could you buy a box? Will pay you back._   
_They're the Lance's cracker_   
_they look like off brand Ritz_

_Sure_

_thanks_

And so Grantaire was forced to stop at the 24/7 grocery store to search for some obscure crackers, as he was so burdened by love that he couldn't say no. He was also burdened with alcoholism, so he could not say no to a bottle or two of wine, either.  
When he returned to Enjolras' apartment, he saw Combeferre and Enjolras, sides pressed together on the couch. Combeferre was silently speaking the words he was reading while Enjolras typed furiously. Courfeyrac, who usually helped more in spreading the word than with planning it, was laying his head on Combferre's lap, playing on his phone. He was the first to notice Grantaire, and when he saw him, a huge grin covered his face.

  
"Do you have the crackers?" He asked, and this caught the attention of Combeferre and Enjolras. Grantaire held the box up with a small grin. Courfeyrac cheered, and Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly at his friend.

  
"Wine?" Enjolras had his eyes on the paper bag that was in Grantaire's other hand.

  
"Guilty," he replied with a shrug. Enjolras, though, did not look upset. Instead, he actually looked a little relieved.

  
"Could I get a glass?"

  
Grantaire blinked, processing. Then a grin covered his face. "Oh, I am so perverting you, aren't I?"

  
Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue, but Grantaire did not let him have the chance.  
"Alas! Gather around me, friends, for I have accomplished a great feat. Before your very eyes, I, Grantaire, have turned our righteous leader into a lowly alcoholic. I have truly dragged him down; I will take all the credit, too. Surely, it was me, for who else could drive a strong willed god into drunkenness?"

  
Courfeyrac applauded, but stopped once he realized that his two other friends were silent.

  
"R, this is the serious group, remember?" Courfeyrac stage whispered to him. "They're no fun."

  
"Hush, Courf. We're plenty of fun," Enjolras turned his intense gaze to Grantaire. "But even-- what did you call me? A god?"

  
Grantaire nodded. "Like Apollo."

  
"Well, surely Apollo gets tension headaches."

  
"Hm," Grantaire hummed, going to the kitchen and pouring Enjolras a glass of the wine. He also poured a glass for Combeferre, just in case. As for he and Courfeyrac, they could just share the bottle. Neither of them had any reservations about doing so, as long as the alcohol was decent enough.

  
He was balancing the two glasses and the bottle as he walked the short distance back to where the Triumvirate was, feeling like some type of circus performer. He had the qualifications-- he was ugly enough, at least. And he could be funny sometimes, if he was with the right group of people. He snorted at the thought of himself in the clown costume, which caused his friends to look at him.

  
“Sorry, I’m a clown,” He said, as if that explained anything. He set the cups down onto the table and took a seat next to Courfeyrac, who wasted no time in pressing the bottle to his lips and taking a few gulps of the alcohol. Grantaire did not mind; he was trying to cut back, anyways.

  
“Aren’t we all clowns?” Courfeyrac asked after his thirst was quenched. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and pointed, making a face that he hoped would be interpreted as This man may be onto something.

  
“Anyway, Enj, you said you had a tension headache?” Grantaire leaned forward. Enjolras rolled his eyes and then visibly flinched.

  
“It’s more of an annoyed headache now.”

  
“Well, regardless, do you know how to get rid of tension headaches?”

  
“Downing an entire bottle of ibuprofen and hoping your organs don’t fail?” the blond replied flatly. Combeferre snorted, and Courfeyrac murmured something along the lines of, ‘Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” before he took another swig of the wine.

  
“Well, I guess, but the more fun way,” he paused for dramatic effect, making intense eye contact with Enjolras to ensure that he was listening. “Is sex.”

  
Courfeyrac then proceeded to choke on his drink. Grantaire laughed at him, which made Courfeyrac spit the wine that had remained in his mouth onto the drunkard.

  
Enjolras, on the other hand, had gone silent. He and Combeferre made eye contact, silently agreeing on something. Enjolras spoke first, breaking the chaos.

  
“Are you drunk, Grantaire?” Enjolras nearly snarled. Grantaire, who had been grinning moments before, was now suddenly feeling somber.

  
“I am disgustingly sober, my friend,” he replied, trying to ignore the way the obvious disgust on Enjolras’ face made him feel. Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged another silent conversation, before Combeferre turned his whole body towards Grantaire.  
“It is probably best that you go and lay down,” he began, speaking in a gently voice that was stern, but not unkind. “These comments are better suited for the whole group, no? Right now, Enj, Courf, and I have to plan this meeting. We have a protest coming up, and we need to make sure we have back-up and support in case something goes wrong.”

  
“I would love to comply, but…” he motioned to the couch. “I kind of sleep here.”

  
Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue something, but instead he scoffed.

  
“We just haven’t gotten to buying him a mattress yet,” the man said quietly, and both Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked amused.

  
“He can go sleep in your bed,” Courfeyrac suggested. “Then you can at least say that you have brought someone to bed.”

  
“Why would I even need to say that?”

  
“Dunno, brownie points?”

  
“Guys,” Combeferre interrupted them. Now, everyone was back to looking at Combeferre, who seemed slightly flustered to have the attention of even this small group. “Enjolras. R can go sleep in your bed, right?”

  
“Yeah, fine,” Enjolras sighed. Combeferre squeezed his thigh, and Enjolras placed a hand on top of Combeferre’s. Grantaire pressed his lips tightly together as he watched the intimacy between the two. He wondered why he had never seen it-- Combeferre and Enjolras were always together, and of course they were comfortable around each other. So their casual intimacy should hardly be a surprise.  
Combeferre, having apparently finished calming Enjolras enough, turned back to Grantaire.

  
“It was good to see you, R. Thank you for buying the crackers and the wine. I don’t have cash on me right now, but I’ll get some from the bank to pay you back.”

  
Enjolras began to protest, but Combeferre silenced him with a smothering glance. Grantaire, feeling slightly sick, muttered his good-byes and disappeared back into Enjolras’ bedroom.

  
Other than glances when he was going to shower, Grantaire had not really seen much of Enjolras’ bedroom. He supposed that now was as good a time as any to do some good, old fashioned snooping. He began over at the bookshelf that was parallel to the bed, pressed against the wall. There were only a few books on it-- mainly college textbooks-- but the space was still filled up. In addition to the displayed photos, Grantaire found photo albums tucked away in the shelves. He tentatively reached for one.

  
It was dusty, as if it had not been looked through for a while. Grantaire opened the front of the album, not exactly sure what he was expecting. But he knew that he was not prepared for it to be a family album, so when the first page was titled Enjolras, One Year Old, he was taken aback. Down the page were three pictures of Enjolras. All of them appeared to be taken by a professional photographer, which made something in Grantaire’s gut twist.

  
Do all rich people do this shit? He wondered as he inspected the the photos.

  
The photo at the top of the page was Enjolras in the tub. There were bubbles surrounding him as tall as he was. A duck sticker helped paste the photo to the page. Grantaire found it ridiculously adorable.

  
The second photo was Enjolras dressed up in a tiny toddler tuxedo. There was a small print next to it, a caption, which read, Auntie Marie’s Wedding.

  
The final photo was just Enjolras holding a ball. There were no captions or anything, but there was a ball sticker in the corner of the image.

  
On the next few pages, as Grantaire watched Enjolras age, he saw him progress from a smiling little kid to a scowling pre-teen. There were plenty of photos for Grantaire to use against Enjolras from the early years of his life. But Grantaire noticed that, as he got older, there were fewer pictures being taken. It started around the page titled Enjolras, Age Thirteen.

  
There was a picture of him wearing a blue school uniform and donning a satchel across his shoulder. Next to him stood the familiar-but-different figure of Combeferre, who was dressed in similar attire. First Day of High School.

  
There were no other pictures on that page. The next page, however, was filled. There were quite a few photos of Enjolras holding a second-place ribbon, standing next to a poster about the Civil Rights Movement. Grantaire noticed, grimmly, that in all the photos on this page, Enjolras’ smile seemed incredibly forced. It never met his eyes. In quite a few of the photos, he was looking past the camera at some unseen figure.  
The next page was decorated, but there were no photos. At the top, it said, Enjolras’ First School Gala. As Grantaire fingered through the rest of the album, he saw that the rest of it was also empty, having seemingly been abandoned at that point.

  
Quietly, Grantaire placed the photo album back to where he had found it. He inspected a few of the other things on the shelves-- including an origami flower vase he recognized as a trademark of Jehan’s-- but none of them stood out quite as much as a photo of Enjolras and Combeferre, tightly embracing each other in their graduation robes. The photo was slightly blurry, but even still, Grantaire could see the genuine expression on Enjolras’ face, which was turned towards the camera, the side of his face resting tightly against Combeferre’s chest.

  
Grantaire tried to think of what he was like at that age. At the age of 18, he hadn’t been totally addicted to alcohol and other mind-altering substances. But college changed that all.

  
See, Grantaire had very little impulse control. He often would agree to things before knowing all the details. He said yes to whatever drink or snack was offered to him, and he would never miss a good party. He never made good choices at those parties. He would try whatever drugs the attendants had available and soon he discovered that he could not stop. He grimaced as he remembered the time when he realized that he had really fucked himself up. It was after he had flunked out of art school. There was seldom a night where Grantaire would remain sober, but that night was one of them. He remembered looking up at the ceiling of his scarcely furnished studio apartment and thinking about all the goals he had once had, which had all been tossed aside in favor for addiction. He realized that all the money he earned from his job at the bar would be quickly spent on booze and anything else he could get his hands on. He tried to think of any friends he had, only to realize that he did not actually have anyone.

  
After that moment, Grantaire decided to try to ease up on the drugs. It did not always work, but he tried. Nowadays, it was mainly alcohol with the occasional joint. A dabble in rehab helped curb his addiction to the stronger stuff, and that is where he met Montparnasse. Through him, he met Eponine, and from Eponine, he learned of the Amis, and then he no longer needed the hard stuff to intoxicate him, because he had met Enjolras.

  
With a wave of emotion, he realized that he, once again, was truly fucked. He slowly backed away from the bookshelf and when his calves came in contact with the bed, he let himself fall back on it.

  
“I’m not sure which discovery you just made or what conclusions you just drew,” a voice started behind him, though Grantaire was too deep in wallowing that he hardly jumped. “But I can assure you, his drawers are more scandalous,”

  
Grantaire felt the bed dip beside him. He looked up and saw Courfeyrac’s smiling face.  
“Really, I’m sure you could have found a lot more good stuff in there. Great teasing material.”

  
“He looked so sad in his photos,” Grantaire replied, moving his eyes to look up at the ceiling. Courfeyrac sighed and laid down next to him, following his gaze to rest on the ceiling.

  
“His freshman and sophomore years weren’t great, according to ‘Ferre. Enj hasn’t really told me much about them, but from what I could gather from Combeferre-- and believe me, I used all the torture techniques I could think of to get the secrets out of him-- Enj was just dealing with some shit.”

  
“I hate that,” Grantaire whined. “I hate looking at his photos and seeing him so-- so-- distracted? Is that even the right word?” As he spoke, he gesticulated with his hands. “He’s just--”

  
“He’s like a robot,” Courfeyrac finished.

  
“Exactly! Just like a robot. And he’s always focussed and he’s always serious.”

  
“Not always,” Courfeyrac argued, butting in before Grantaire could get carried away by his rant. “He shows his happiness when he’s comfortable. He’s just serious in public, or when he has to do something, or--” he paused to consider. “Yeah, no, he is frequently a robot. But my point is, he has feelings.”

  
“I see him smile a lot,” Grantaire began, the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Courfeyrac, who had turned his body towards Grantaire, was looking intrigued, so Grantaire knew he had to explain. “I-- This is going to sound creepy, and if you repeat any of this, you’re dead.”

  
“Gotcha. I am hereby sworn to secrecy.”

  
“I look at him in the meetings, after all the announcements and speeches and shit. And I see him looking around at everyone and there will be just the smallest trace of a smile on his face, but the ways his eyes are lit up-- fuck, Courf.” Grantaire covered his face with his hands. Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Grantaire in an awkward embrace. His head rested against Grantaire’s chest.

  
“You got it hard, R,” Courfeyrac half-whispered. Grantaire let out a noise halfway between a sob and a groan. “Hey, I know what will cheer you up, though.”

  
Grantaire looked at him through his fingers, intrigued. Courfeyrac bounced up and tip-toed rapidly to the other side of Enjolras’ bed.  
“We can go through Enjolras’ nightstand drawers. I know he has stuff in there, because ‘Ferre has mentioned it--”

  
“Wait, why would Combeferre know?”

  
“Oh,” Courfeyrac paused, embarrassed, before slowly continuing, “Sorry, I thought you knew.”

  
“Knew what?”

  
“Combeferre and Enjolras have this, this, thing, you see,” Courfeyrac sat back down on the bed. Grantaire was sitting up and facing him, staring intensely at his friend, who did not meet his eyes. “They have the whole ‘fuck buddies’ thing going on.”

  
Grantaire’s eyes widened and his mouth suddenly felt dry. “Oh,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth. Courfeyrac pressed his lips together and scowled for a few moments before grabbing Grantaire’s arm and bouncing slightly on the bed.

  
“We can still go through his shit?” he suggested, but Grantaire knew he would do it regardless if Grantaire was helping or not. With a slightly wicked grin, Grantaire crawled over to the other side of the bed. Courfeyrac was already opening the drawer, his hands shaking from excitement.

  
“We’re going through your shit!” Courfeyrac announced to the other two current inhabitants of the Hotel Enjolras.

  
“NO!” came Enjolras’ cry, and the door was quickly thrown open.

  
Too late, though, because Courfeyrac held two different sex toys in each of his hands.  
“Tsk,” he shook his head. “Naughty, naughty Enjy.”

  
Enjolras, for the record, was doing his best to die on the spot. His entire face, down to his collarbones and back to his ears, was flushed.

  
“Y’know, Enj, in some states in America, it is illegal to own more than one dildo,” Grantaire chided. Enjolras glared daggers into him.

  
“I think he technically only owns one dildo,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre, who had just appeared in the doorway, looked very confused.

  
“Well, one just arrived,” Grantaire replied. Enjolras’ eyes widened and he shifted his gaze to Courfeyrac, looking betrayed. Combeferre’s dark skin reddened.

  
“Courfeyrac, I’m going to kill you,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth. Combeferre placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but Enjolras roughly shrugged it off. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, was inspecting the fleshlight he held in his hands. He looked over at Grantaire.

  
“Y’know, I’m a little sad. His is bigger than mine,” he commented, then winked. Grantaire let out a bark of laughter. Enjolras was still fuming.

  
“This is a gross invasion of privacy,” he began, and Grantaire could see how badly his hands were shaking. “I can’t believe-- I welcome you both into my home, and you do this?”

  
At that, Grantaire felt a pang of guilt. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, was looking back over at the drawer. He reached in and pulled out something metallic, and it took a moment for Grantaire to recognize them as handcuffs. He whistled.

  
“That’s an image that is now in my brain,” he remarked to no one at all. Courfeyrac began fiddling with the handcuffs, trying to figure out how to open them.

  
“What do you use these for, Enj?” Courfeyrac asked, and Enjolras looked like he was going to smite him.

  
“I didn’t have a use for them until now,” he replied. Grantaire raised his eyebrows in faux surprise.

  
“Please tell.”

  
“I think it would work great for keeping you out of trouble,” he snapped, and Grantaire was reminded of a bear in a snare.

  
“I would say that my mouth tends to get me in more trouble, but knowing my luck, you’ll have a gag,” Grantaire smirked a little at the way Enjolras’ nostrils flared. The man’s chest was heaving.

  
“I. Don’t.”

  
Combeferre mouthed the word, Don’t, to both Courfeyrac and Grantaire. An understanding suddenly diffused across Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he looked past Combeferre to Enjolras, whose legs were beginning to shake.

  
“Shit, Enj,” Courfeyrac began, but Enjolras put his hand up to stop him.

  
“I think you guys should leave,” he said, and Grantaire could hear his voice shaking.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac both got up, looking at each other, and the guilt was mirrored in their faces. Courfeyrac, who Enjolras was closer with than Grantaire, placed a gentle hand on Enjolras’ cheek, cupping it.

  
“Sorry, Enj,” he said softly, and Grantaire could see tears in his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was being such a dick.”

  
Enjolras studied his friend’s face, making the most heartbreaking expression Grantaire had seen.

  
“Please leave,” Enjolras croaked out.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire looked at each other as Combeferre hered the two out. They wordlessly went out of the apartment building.

  
When they reached Courfeyrac’s red convertible, Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose for a few moments before addressing his friends.

  
“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice angrier than Grantaire had ever heard it before. He instinctively flinched away.

  
“I wasn’t thinking,” Courfeyrac spoke quickly but quietly, almost mumbling. He did not meet Combeferre’s eyes.

  
“Obviously,” Combeferre’s voice came out similar to a nearly hysterical laugh. “I just want to know what was going through your heads. I mean, on one hand, that really is a gross invasion of privacy, but Courfeyrac, really?” Courfeyrac flinched at the usage of his full name. Usually, Combeferre only used nicknames with he and Enjolras. Grantaire was not quite at that level yet, which he almost felt thankful for at this moment.

  
“I really just wasn’t thinking,” Courfeyrac repeated, and Grantaire could see how he was shrinking in on himself. Subconsciously, he mirrored the behaviour.

  
“Not only was that a breach of Enjolras’ trust, but it was also on something he’s,” he groaned as he tried to find the right word. “Sensitive about. We know that Enjolras is comfortable with himself-- but that does not mean he is comfortable with other people seeing that side of him. What he keeps, what he does in his free time is none of our damned business.”

  
“I mean, it’s kind of yours, sometimes,” the words fell out of Grantaire’s mouth before he could stop them. Combeferre turned towards him, and shit, Combeferre was terrifying when he was angry. “Sorry, ignore that. Remember what I said earlier about my mouth? I wasn’t lying. I cannot keep my mouth shut. I think too many drugs during my peak developmental years curbed my ability to properly filter the things I say. Oh, shit, that might be TMI. Please, someone interrupt me or otherwise shut me up--”

  
“Grantaire, shut up,” Courfeyrac said weakly. Grantaire gave him a small ‘thank you’ grin, but it did not meet his eyes.

  
Combeferre was pacing. Finally, he stopped and placed his hands onto Grantaire’s shoulders. Unlike the tender touches he was giving Enjolras, the way Combeferre’s fingers dug into his shoulders actually hurt.

  
“None of that leaves this apartment building, okay?” he worded it as a suggestion, but in the tone he used, Grantaire could tell it was a demand. He nodded, suddenly unsure if he could actually talk. Combeferre seemed to relax very slightly from that. “Good,” he sighed and backed away from Grantaire.

Courfeyrac was still not meeting his eyes and Combeferre, having noticed that, placed a gentle hand onto his shoulder. Courfeyrac looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, and Combeferre moved his hand to cup his check. He brushed a tear away and Grantaire felt as though he should not be here, intruding on this moment.

  
“I’m going to calm Enjolras down. You two should probably go elsewhere. I’ll stay the night.”

  
Without another word, Courfeyrac and Grantaire got into the car. Courfeyrac started the engine, pulled out of the parking space, and began driving.

  
“I thought your apartment was the other way,” Grantaire remarked when Courfeyrac made a left instead of a right. Courfeyrac shrugged.

  
“Jehan has weed,” he replied, and Grantaire made a noise of acknowledgement.

  
The rest of the car ride was silent.

  
When they arrived at Jehan's small cottage house, Jehan was sitting on their steps smoking a blunt.

  
"'Ferre told me ya done goofed," they said, and then they took a long hit.

  
"We really did," Courfeyrac agreed. "Please remedy us with your world-famous hugs 'n' drugs."

  
Jehan laughed at that, and Grantaire was glad to see the twinkle in their eye. It was one of the things he loved about Jehan-- they always could cheer people up.

  
Jehan invited the two inside, got them all in pajamas, and made them all sundaes with pot brownies. By the end of the hour, the three of them were cuddling on the couch, speaking mindlessly of the things that ailed them.

  
"Why am I jealous of Combeferre?" Grantaire asked, not really expecting any response. However, Jehan shot right up, their eyes wide.

  
"Is it because you're hopelessly in love with Enjolras?" They supplied hopefully. Grantaire groaned, unable to even argue.

  
"I just want Enjolras to like me. Not even love me, just like. And I've been living with him for two weeks, and I'm getting so many mixed signals, but I just keep falling deeper and deeper in love."

  
"Hm," Jehan thought for a moment. "I think Enjolras is just like that, y'know?"

  
"Oh, he definitely is," Courfeyrac butted in. "I dont want to say that it's an annoying trait, considering I just used my most annoying trait to ruin his week--"

  
"The hell did you guys even do?"

  
"Dildos and stuff," Grantaire replied, exchanging a sad glance with Courfeyrac.

  
"'Ferre was so angry. It would have been hot if he hadn't been so scary."

  
Grantaire snorted at him and Courfeyrac elbowed him. "Aww, do you wuv Combeferre?"

  
"Fuck you," Courfeyrac replied, flipping him off.

  
"Hey! We only express our feelings the healthy way here. Try that again," Jehan ordered, looking expectantly at Courfeyrac and Grantaire.

  
"Combeferre is hot when he is angry, but not when the anger is directed towards me."

  
"Wow, it sounds like we are both afflicted by the cruel humor of the nephilim, in their diapers with their stupid love arrows."

  
"I-- no," Courfeyrac laughed a bit. "I'm not in love with Combeferre, but I can still acknowledge that he certainly has his moments."

  
"So are you jealous of Enjolras then?" Grantaire asked, which caught Jehan'a attention.

  
"Why would-- wait," Jehan's eyes widened. "Are Enj and 'Ferre, like, a thing?"

  
Grantaire groaned loudly, but Courfeyrac laughed at that.

  
"Oh, Jehan, my dear. No," he positioned himself so that he was laying on their lap. Jehan instantly went to pet his hair. "That's the reason why they bang. There's no strings attached. Could you pin-point my temples more? Ah, thanks."

Grantaire sighed dramatically. "Enjolras will never forgive us, will he, Courf?"

"No, give him some credit," Courfeyrac scoffed at him. "He just has a lot of strong emotions. You know Enjolras; he doesn't do anything half-way."

  
"I will certainly remember that the next time I shower," said Grantaire solemnly. Jehan wrinkled his nose in distaste, but Courfeyrac grinned at him.

  
"You're gross, R," Courfeyrac said affectionately. He opened his arms, a clear invitation for Grantaire to crawl next to him and cuddle. Jehan leaned their head back against the sofa. In Grantaire's mind, he imagined Courfeyrac's arms being replaced with Enjolras' embrace. Slowly, he drifted to sleep.


	3. The Base of a Good Friendship Starts with a Deep Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras talk. They learn more about each other's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to proofread this, but then I decided to YOLO it. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, content warning for implied homophobia, implied abuse, and referenced underaged sexual activities.

Combeferre texted Grantaire around noon the next day, letting him know that Enjolras was awake and was calm, as he was on his second cup of coffee in the half-hour he had been awake.  
Courfeyrac dropped him off on his way back to his and Marius' shared apartment.  
As Grantaire made his way up the stairs of the apartment building, he felt apprehension filling his gut. He was worried that Combeferre was going to still be there, that Enjolras had built the courage to tell Grantaire to leave, that any chance of friendship with Enjolras was nullified-- but as soon as he walked into the apartment, his fears died down.  
Combeferre was gone, which Grantaire was relieved by. Enjolras was sitting on the couch with his computer in his lap. He held a mug of coffee in one hand and he typed with the other. He did not seem to notice Grantaire's entrance.  
Using his temporary veil, he quietly walked over to the couch where Enjolras was sitting. He sat down on the other side of it, making sure that there was a decent distance between them. Enjolras startled a bit, drops of coffee spilling. The two met eyes. Grantaire instantly forgot what he had wanted to say.  
"You were right," Enjolras said, effectively breaking the silence and baffling Grantaire. He made a questioning face and Enjolras grinned. The smile did not reach his eyes. "About the tension headache thing."  
"Oh," he felt a rock drop in his stomach. He glanced in the direction of the bedroom. The door was cracked open, allowing the faintest sliver of light to shine through from the bathroom.  
"I was planning on letting you know eventually."  
"It's okay," Grantaire didn't really have anything else to say. "So you guys…" he let the question hang in the air. Enjolras pressed his lips together and nodded briefly. After a beat, he began talking again.  
"What was the thing that really set you off yesterday?" He asked. Enjolras looked at him through narrowed eyes.  
"Why?"  
"Enj, I live to annoy you. I cannot do so if I keep making you hate me. So I need to know which part of last night was bad, y'know?"  
Enjolras considered this. "I dislike feeling so exposed, and I didn't like how blindsided I was when I learned that Courf told you about 'Ferre and I."  
"So," he began slowly, desperately hoping that he would manage to keep his voice neutral. "Are you and Combeferre romantically involved?" Enjolras was taken aback.  
"No. We already tried that, once. It didn't work. I guess the term would be 'friends with benefits'."  
Grantaire nodded. He looked around the room, eyes catching on small details he had not noticed before, like how there was a crack in the paint on the ceiling, or the fact that the sun that came through the one window reflected off of a crystal somewhere and created a rainbow on the floor.  
"I think you should know, so there are no secrets between us," Grantaire began, "I looked through your photo albums."  
Enjolras hardly reacted. "I saw that a few things were out of place when I was alone."  
"You looked really sad in some of them."  
Enjolras hummed. "High school wasn't a fun time for me."  
"If I ask what happened, would you tell me?"  
Enjolras studied him for a bit. Grantaire noticed that there were pronounced dark circles underneath his eyes. He looked a little more pale than usual.  
"You promise you won't tell anyone?"  
"I promise," Grantaire reached a hand over and placed it onto Enjolras' thigh. The man took in a sharp breath. "This stays between us."  
Enjolras closed his eyes and sighed as he let himself relax onto the plush back of the couch. He took a deep breath before he began to talk.  
"I realized I was queer in high school, and my parents found out in a," he let out a short, bitter laugh. "Not ideal way."  
Grantaire arched a brow, leaning towards him and silently urging for details. Enjolras looked at his face and a small smile appeared, as well as a rouge blush that danced across his cheeks.  
"You have to promise not to judge me too harshly for this," Enjolras said.  
"Enj, whatever it is that you did, I've probably done worse."  
This seemed to allay a few of Enjolras' worries.  
"Okay. I was fourteen, it was my first year of high school. I joined the science fair with one of my closest friends--"  
"Combeferre?"  
"Ha, no. Though if it had been him, things probably would have been different," Enjolras stared off, scowling at nothing in particular(or at least, nothing Grantaire could see). "No, we'll call him Giuseppe. Giuseppe and I…" he grinned. A faraway look was in his eyes, and Grantaire realized he had never seen anything similar to that from Enjolras. It would have hurt less to have been stabbed in the gut.  
"Giuseppe and I grew really close, really fast. He was a few years my senior-- I think 17 at the time-- and I think I was attracted to him because it seemed so…" he scrunched his face up. "Forbidden."  
Anyway, he was over at my house one day, and we were working on the outline for our science fair project. The door was closed, neither of my parents were home, and," Enjolras' face turned incredibly pink. "He was wearing a v-neck with a leather jacket. I thought he looked incredible, and his fashion was so American, so it seemed foreign and a little exotic."  
"Note to self: buy a v-neck and leather," Grantaire commented, which cause Enjolras to scowl at him.  
"Leather is cruel."  
"But what if the animal is already going to be killed for food production? Would it not, then, be wasteful to dispose of anything we couldn't eat?" Grantaire countered. Enjolras pressed his lips together as he thought for a few beats.  
"I suppose. But the commercial meat industry as a whole is unsustainable and terrible for our environment. If you'd really want to help, you could--"  
"Enjolras," Grantaire cut him off. "As much as aid love a good political debate with you, I'm much more intrigued by v-neck leather man and how he woo'd you."  
Enjolras rolled his eyes, but there was no ill expression on his face. "Right. Well, I don't really know what came over me that day. We were sitting on the floor of my room. We were right next to each other and I could feel how warm he was. And he kept touching me--"  
"Woah, wait, time out. What do you mean, 'touching' you?"  
"Not like that!" Enjolras huffed, though he looked a little amused. "Just, subtle things. Y'know, a hand on my thigh, resting his arms and chin on my shoulders, stuff like that.  
I don't even know who initiated, but we were kissing. I had never been kissed before at that time. I had never felt attraction like that, either, and it was a lot to deal with, so I wasn't really thinking," Enjolras began to look more somber as a slight scowl settled upon his face, and his eyes were fixed on the table in front of him. "He got me onto my bed. He was on top of me, I was too distracted to hear my parents come home. He and I were both in various stages of undress, and there was no way for us to have hidden what we were doing.  
My father came in, surprising us. Giuseppe jumped up at pointed at me and," he took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, shaky exhale. "He said, 'your son is a perv, he tried to seduce me.'"  
Grantaire's heart dropped to his stomach. The joking mood he had been in early completely dissipated. He moved closer to Enjolras, unsure entirely if it was for him or for his friend, and rested one of his large, calloused hands onto his shoulder.  
"What then?" He asked gently. Enjolras closed his eyes as though he was watching the scene play out against his eyelids.  
"My father kicked him out. And," he pressed his lips together, faltering in his story.  
Grantaire’s grip tightened on his shoulder. Enjolras looked at him, studying his face. Grantaire noticed how strained his breathing was. His eyes were glassy from a layer of tears that threatened to fall over any given second.  
"They kicked me out,” he finished, though he sounded almost unsure. “Combeferre's family took me in for a while, and then my aunt and my uncle informally adopted me. They only lived half an hour away, and they let me stay in the same school district."  
"Did they know the circumstances?"  
Enjolras gave a bitter laugh. "Oh yeah. They were not thrilled, but at least they didn't react like my father," he waved his hand almost dismissively. "They still tried to set me up with a girl any chance they could," at this, a small smile appeared. "There was one girl-- her parents found out that she was a lesbian. She and I, obviously, hit it off right away. We faked a relationship so our families would stop trying to set us up with people," the smile on his face grew, meeting his eyes. He had an amused glint in his eyes. Grantaire felt his face mirror his expression. "Our families thought that we were sexually involved. They kept buying us stuff-- almost like they were encouraging us. She sold the stuff at school."  
Grantaire snorted. He noticed that his hand was still on Enjolras' shoulder, so he removed it. The sudden deprivation of warmth on his shoulder made Enjolras look over at him.  
"Did you ever actually sleep with one?"  
"Heh," Enjolras blushed and averted his gaze. "Tried to, once. I was sixteen, I think. She was, too. She was a family friend and she had kind of," he screwed his face up. "She had 'liked' me since we were children. I thought of her more as a cousin or something.  
I mean, don't get me wrong, she was really pretty-- I imagine that, if I liked girls in that way, she and I would probably have gotten married young, had either a ton of children or only one, and had a long, unhappy marriage until one of us died."  
"That's… depressing," Grantaire commented, unsure how he was supposed to reply. On one hand, he could have made a joke about it. 'Sounds like the good life,' he could say. But Enjolras was opening up to him and he did not want to discourage his friend if he said the wrong thing.  
Enjolras, though, grinned at him, though he acted scandalized. "What, really? I could have been a proper business man, working every single day, hardly seeing my wife and kids. What could have been better?" He sighed, almost dreamily, which made Grantaire laugh.  
"You really gave up the ideal life, Enj," he agreed, following along with Enjolras' light tone. "Now, though… you're trapped with like, ten close friends who love you, you're the leader of an activism group, and your stuck with an alcoholic as a roommate. Your life is truly in shambles."  
Enjolras' grin fell as he studied his face. "I am not stuck with you, Grantaire. You live here now, for as long as you need and want to."  
The sudden mood change slapped Grantaire in the face. He blinked, words not being able to exit his throat. Instead, Grantaire shrugged, feigning passivity. Enjolras touched his thigh with one of his warm, fine hands. Grantaire looked away, unable to look at Enjolras.  
Suddenly, Enjolras withdrew his hand. "I think you hearing the story of my sexcapades with Jeanette would help relieve some," he paused, thinking of a word. "Awkwardness? Or tension?"  
Grantaire looked back at Enjolras. The man had shifted in a way where one of his legs was on the couch in front of him-- his body had turned ninety degrees and he was now looking at Grantaire straight on. His elbows, which he was using as a support to keep him upright, were resting on the arm of the couch behind him. Grantaire tilted his head, only slightly exaggerating his curiosity.  
"Please, do tell."  
"Okay," he began. He cleared his throat dramatically. "Our families-- and by that, I mean me, my aunt, and my uncle, and her with her parents and butler-- had a nice dinner party. They made a separate room for Jeanette and I. They tried really hard to make it as stereotypically romantic as they could-- flowers, a candle, violins in the background. The whole deal. They even gave us a bottle of red wine to share. Then after supper, which was oysters," he made a disgusted face, which disappeared nearly as soon as it had appeared, "they told me to take her to the bedroom and give her a tour."  
Grantaire snorted, louder than before. It made Enjolras jump in his place, and they made eye contact again.  
"Must have been a hell of a tour," he commented. "'Yes, mademoiselle, this is my bedroom, where I do bedroom things. This is the connected bathroom, where I do bathroom things. That lump of pillows over there is my bed, which is a really fine place. Oh, and here's my penis.'"  
Enjolras shook his head, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling from ear to ear, clearly amused.  
"I feel called out," he replied. "But she put it out first."  
“Do you mean put out?”  
"Yeah, sure, whatever,” Enjolras said with a lazy shrug. “She had begun unbuttoning her blouse. I didn't notice because I was giving a tour. But then she called me, and I turned, and she was no longer wearing a blouse," he paused for a second, his eyes flickering back and forth as he rewatched the scene in his mind. "She began kissing me, she led me to my bed. I thought," he cleared his throat quietly. "I thought that I may have been attracted to her, because I was really warm, but I couldn’t,” he blushed, more intense than before. Grantaire could feel an emotion bubbling up in his chest. Fondness? Envy? “I couldn’t keep it up.”  
Grantaire blinked at him, his mouth slightly agape as he processed the words the man had just said. “Huh.”  
“What?” Enjolras demanded, and Grantaire imagined him bristling like a cat exhibiting their defense mechanisms. The thought made him grin a bit.  
“I think I have learned more about you in this conversation than I have in the entire two years we have known each other.”  
Enjolras considered this briefly. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I don’t normally tell whomever I come across about my troubles.”  
Grantaire put a hand to his chest, mimicking shock and appallment. “Was that a dig at me, Monsieur?”  
“Hm?” Enjolras looked at his nails, though his eyebrows were raised and Grantaire could see a small smile. “Oh, no, never. I do not mock, not ever.”  
“I think you did!”  
“Nonsense.”  
“Okay, Monsieur. If I share so much about myself, I want you to tell me about my life.”  
That got Enjolras’ full attention. He scowled, though it was not necessarily at Grantaire; it seemed like he was genuinely thinking now, and Grantaire recognized this side of Enjolras-- the side that was calculating, thoughtful, and occasionally, cruel.  
“Your family was poor, but your parents were loving. You don’t have any other siblings. You helped your mother in the garden a lot, and you drew landscaping. You also helped your father carry things back and forth from town, especially as he got older. You graduated high school with decent grades, but you had already begun to dabble in drugs and alcohol. You flunked out of art school, and now you’re here, in my apartment.”  
Grantaire tilted his head marginally as he thought. “That’s a broad form, I guess. I’ll give you a few points for it, but it’s at most a ‘B’.”  
Enjolras pouted momentarily, but his face was overcome with curiosity once more. “Could I have a more in depth run down, then?”  
“Like, an eye-for-an-eye kind of deal?”  
Enjolras hummed. “I suppose. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though,” Enjorlas said quickly, holding up a hand to indicate that Grantaire could stop at any time.  
“Nah,” Grantaire layed back on the couch, putting his feet up onto Enjolras(he didn’t know where, and he was not going to look). His fingers laced together behind his head, acting as a sort of pillow. “I was born a little early. Not too much for it to matter physically, but I struggled a lot in school. Actually, I’m not sure if the two were related. I just know that I was depressed and I could not pay attention. I got into a lot of trouble because I’d frequently forget assignments, I’d lose things, I’d get overwhelmed easily, it took me longer to learn things-- you get the gist. So my mother quit her job, took me out of school, and homeschooled me.”  
“I didn’t know that you were homeschooled,” Enjolras commented, though he said it more to himself. Grantaire shrugged as much as he could from his position.  
“There are quite a few things you don’t know,” he replied, aiming for mysterious, but probably coming across as an asshole. “Anyway, I graduated from my highschool of one with Magna cum Laude. At least, that’s what my mother said,” he unlaced his fingers and waved his hand in the air dismissively. “She didn’t know the amount of trouble I was getting into, though. I had told my parents about me being so down all the time, but they don’t actually believe in depression or other mental health issues. That’s one of their flaws-- but I love them, and they love me. I just didn’t know how to cope. I met someone at my job who got me into drugs and shit, so I would be going to these absolutely batshit parties, getting shit-faced, and sleeping with whomever was available that night. Boys, girls, I had no preference. It was the release that mattered.  
I somehow got accepted into this really good art school nearby here. Because of my family’s financial situation, I got a really great scholarship that was pretty much a full ride. But of course, I fucked it up. Kept getting high, kept forgetting shit, and they eventually got sick of me. And I’ve been too ashamed to admit to my parents that their only son is still a fuck-up.”  
Grantaire felt Enjolras shift, and then he realized that Enjolras was just moving so he could touch Grantaire’s arm. His hand was still warm, and surprisingly soft.  
“You’re not a fuck-up,” he said quietly, but assertively. Grantaire could not meet his eyes, so he just shrugged.  
“I met Montparnasse in Rehab. He introduced me to Eponine, and then I joined your stupid club--”  
“It’s an organization,” Enjolras corrected.  
“Whatever. I was introduced to it, and I just never left. And that’s pretty much my life. Not very eventful, as you can see.”  
“Hm.” Enjolras idly traced small shapes onto Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire’s legs were still over Enjolras’ lap, but the blond did not seem to care that much. He was staring, almost angrily, at the wall in front of him. His bottom lip was nursed between his teeth as he thought. Grantaire could do nothing other than stare at him; the sun had shifted during their conversation, and the light was now reflecting off of Enjolras.  
“Apollo,” Grantaire whispered, more to himself than to Enjolras. Though, the other man did turn, raising one of his fine, blond eyebrows at him. Grantaire waved him off, but Enjolras continued to stare at Grantaire. He was about to comment on it, but Enjorlas began speaking first.  
“Thank you,” he began, “for listening to me, and for telling me about you. I appreciate it a lot, actually. I know we haven’t previously gotten along very well, but would you be willing to try to be better friends?”  
Grantaire snorted, and Enjolras’ face fell before he realized Grantaire was sitting up. Quickly, before he lost his nerve, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras in an awkward embrace.  
“Yeah, I’m willing.”


	4. In Which Grantaire Suffers, But Not As Much As Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire distracts Jehan, Enjolras runs into a person from his past, and night time is not ideal. 
> 
> CW: In this chapter, Enjolras has a night terror related to PTSD. Also, there is mention/reference of traumatic dissociative amnesia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry it's been so long. School started and I didn't know where to go with this chapter. But I think it found some direction-- I mean, nothing like torturing characters to further the plot.

The day following their talk, Grantaire was awoken too early in the morning by people talking. 

“That’s a weird looking cushion,” a voice-- Courfeyrac-- said, and as soon as he heard it, Grantaire felt weight pressing on his lower abdomen. He groaned. “It’s uncomfortable, too. You need better furniture.”

“Sorry, will get on that some time,” Enjolras replied, though Grantaire could hear the amusement dripping from his words. Combeferre cleared his throat. 

“We should probably wake him.”

“Trust me, I’m up,” Grantaire finally made his consciousness known. He rolled to try to throw Courfeyrac off him, but it did not work that well; the man’s legs were long enough that he just stood up and sat back down again. Grantaire gave up. “What are they even doing here at this ungodly hour?” 

“First of all, it’s ten o’clock,” Enjolras began, looking a little amused, but overall unimpressed. “Second of all, we are planning things.” 

“That’s not worrying.”

Courfeyrac smacked him on the chest playfully. “We are scheming.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes at him. “You three are always scheming,” he mumbled through a yawn as he sat up and stretched. Enjolras was leaning against the wall, wearing a red sweatshirt and mockingly tight jeans. Grantaire had to force himself to look away. 

“We have a favor to ask of you,” Combeferre told him after a brief exchange of looks between him and Enjolras. This caught Grantaire’s attention(or moreso, it distracted him from the main cause of his distractions-- Enjolras). 

“I don’t do this activism stuff,” he replied, leaning back on the couch with his hands folded behind his head. He tried to look nonchalant about being only in his underwear and a tee-shirt, and he hoped that he succeeded. 

“It isn’t activism,” Enjolras cut in. He was looking at Grantaire with a curious expression. His chin was, once again, slightly jutted outwards. Grantaire exaggerated a shocked expression, raising his eyebrows comically high and placing a hand over his heart.

“Then be my guest. Ask away.”

“Jehan came out to their parents,” Combeferre started. Grantaire sucked in a breath, feeling his blood run cold. Combeferre seemed to sense this moment of panic, and he rushed to ease the fear. “They are very accepting of them. But, they want us to help throw them a surprise b’nai mitzvah, and we want to begin planning it tonight. So obviously, Jehan cannot be there. Could you distract them tonight?” 

Grantaire stroked his chin, visually considering the task. “What would be in it for me?”

“You’d get to hang out with Prouvaire,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire grinned at him. 

“That’s good enough for me. When should I leave?”

A few hours later, Grantaire found himself sitting on the doorstep of Jehan’s house. He had already texted Jehan like, four times, telling them that he was there, but Jehan had yet to answer both the door and his texts. Then, a familiar, lythe figure was in the doorway. Grantaire leaped up and opened his arms for a hug-- Jehan willingly all but leaped into his arms and they had a great hug. That was the thing about Jehan: they gave killer hugs. 

“Sorry, I only just saw your texts.”

“No problem,” Grantaire noticed that his friend’s hair was damp, and they smelled like lavender. He put two and two together and figured that Jehan had probably been in the shower, which was why they did not answer his texts. 

Jehan wordlessly invited him into their home, motioning towards the couch. 

“We can watch movies until the meeting, if you want,” they said. Grantaire sucked a breath in through his teeth, making himself wince. 

“Could we actually, y’know,” he batted his eyelashes at Jehan, “Maybe skip the meeting?”

Jehan scowled at him. “Grantaire, what did you do this time?”

“This time?” Grantaire demanded, scandalized. Jehan rolled their pretty hazel eyes at him, though their mouth was slightly upturned and they otherwise looked at him fondly. 

“Every time you have asked me to join you in skipping a meeting, it has always been because you have done something bad and felt ashamed. So what did you do this time?”

“Jehan,” Grantaire’s voice sounded surprisingly earnest, even to himself. He grasped his friend’s shoulder. “I just want to hang out with you. I miss you.”

Jehan studied his eyes. That was another thing about Jehan-- they could sniff out a lie from miles away. Their heart was always truthful, disgustingly so, and they were like a bloodhound when it came to detecting dishonesty. Finally, they looked defeated. 

“Fine. We can skip. Only because that was cute,” they specified, raising an eyebrow at Grantaire, still obviously suspicious. “I don’t want this to become a habit, though.”

Grantaire crossed his heart. “I promise, I’ll hang out with you less.” 

Jehan huffed and shoved him. Compared to Grantaire, who boxed and fenced, they were weak. Grantaire hardly budged, and a loud, belly-laugh came from him. Jehan groaned, but they were also grinning from ear to ear. 

“You really have to show me how you balance so well.”

“Only if I get to show you how to punch, too,” Grantaire reasoned. Jehan’s eyes lit up. 

“That’d be great,” they paused. Their eyebrows inched up their forehead to an almost comical height. Then, they slowly said, “Maybe tonight?” 

Grantaire grinned at him. “Sure. Tonight.”

A few hours later, there was a bottle of wine and a joint split between them. This was, of course, not their first of either that night-- but one of many. And Grantaire was feeling it. He leaned back on the couch and took a drag. He held it in, feeling it burn his lungs, and slowly let it out. Jehan had their head resting on his leg, and they absent-mindedly held each other’s hands, just for some human contact. 

“So what’s living with Enjolras like?” Jehan asked. It took a few beats for him to realize that he was being asked a question. He blinked hard to clear his mind-- though there was not much in there in the first place to clear. 

“It’s actually kinda nice,” he handed the joint to Jehan, who took a hit, clearly expecting Grantaire to elaborate. “I mean, he’s less… intense when he’s at his house. It’s nice.” 

Jehan grunted in acknowledgement. “Anything fun happen yet?”

“What do you mean?”

Jehan sighed as they sat up, contorting their body so that they could face Grantaire. “You both clearly have intense feelings. You clash a lot in meetings. I just wanted to know if it spread to your home,” they looked around the room, and, purposefully not looking at Grantaire, began to think aloud. “I wonder why you moved in with him in the first place.”

Grantaire blinked, a little taken aback. “What?”

Jehan looked back at him, their eyes narrowing just a bit. They looked almost… Hurt? 

“No offence, but you two weren’t exactly besties,” they said, averting their eyes again. “And my house has a spare room.” 

Then it clicked. “Oh,” Grantaire pulled his friend into his chest clumsily. “Oh, Jehan. It isn’t that. It’s embarrassing.” 

“I’m your  _ best friend _ , R!” they protested, but they did not move from his chest. Grantaire could not keep himself from smiling, just a little bit, and teasing. 

“Jehan Prouvaire, you are  _ everyone’s _ best friend.”

“Yeah, but,” they sighed. Grantaire felt them slump. “Nevermind.” 

Feeling worried about his friend, Grantaire pushed them back and made them look at him. “Jehan, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I wasn’t actually planning on moving in with anyone. It was just,” he struggled to find the words, and Jehan’s glassy eyes were not helping his cause. “A weird situation,” then a thought found its way into his head. “Do you remember when Enjolras pulled me out to the hall a few weeks ago?” 

Jehan nodded. 

“Okay, well, that’s when it began. He wanted to know why I was piss drunk and looking like shit,” he thought for a moment before adding, “well, more like shit than usual. He pretty much had Courfeyrac stalk me--”

“What?”

“Sorry, not really stalk me. He said he was concerned. I was not in a great place then, if you didn’t notice.” 

Jehan’s eyes were wide and their eyebrows creased together. “I didn’t.” 

The air fell out of Grantaire. He pressed his lips together. “That’s,” he didn’t know what to say to that, but clearly his explanation was not helping Jehan, who looked full on ready to cry now. “That’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t!” Jehan replied too loudly. Grantaire winced. “I should have noticed--”

“Jean. Jehan,” Grantaire squeezed their shoulders to ground them. Or maybe it was to ground himself. Jehan looked shocked at the use of their real name, but all of their attention was now on Grantaire. “No one noticed. Not Joly, not Bossuet, not Bahorel, not ‘Chetta, not ‘Ponine. I have officially mastered the art of being so shit that people don’t even realize when I am actually feeling like shit,” Jehan opened their mouth to protest, but Grantaire pressed on. “Enjolras is just freakily observant. I didn’t even know until then, I didn’t know he paid attention to me,” his voice caught in his throat, which was stupid, because he was not going to cry. “I lost my job. And my apartment,” he pressed his lips together, waiting for his words to register in Jehan’s brain. When they did, they looked ready to explode; their face was red, their eyes cartoonishly wide. They spluttered, trying to get words out, but they were too flustered. 

“It’s okay,” Grantaire repeated, pulling Jehan towards him again. Jehan was stiff, at first, but then relaxed and hugged him back. 

“You’ll always have a home here, if you need one, R.”

“I know, Jehan. Thank you.”

The two had drifted off to sleep, sitting up like that. It was towards the end of the night when they were awoken by someone knocking on the door. Jehan heard it first-- they were a light sleeper-- and their movement had woken Grantaire. 

“Comin’,” they called sleepily, partially stumbling towards the door. Grantaire instantly, and not purposefully, perked up when he heard Enjolras’ voice. 

“I was just stopping by to see if he needed a ride,” Enjolras’ hoarse voice said. He was frequently hoarse after meetings, though it was usually because they had been yelling at each other. Grantaire cringed at that thought. Then he cringed harder when he realized that meant that there was probably yelling at tonight’s meeting. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire got up and made his way over to the door. “You can fill me in on who you yelled at tonight on the way back.”

Enjolras and Jehan both looked at him with curiosity. Enjolras had dark circles under his eyes, and he was slouching ever so slightly. Jehan’s eyebrow was arched and they looked ready to argue. Grantaire pressed a kiss to their forehead before they could say anything. 

“Thanks for humoring me tonight, Jehan. I’m glad I got to see you.”

Any argument that Jehan had seemed to fall away. Their face softened. “Me too. Goodnight, Grantaire. Enjolras.” 

The three exchanged final salutations and the second the door closed behind them, Enjolras slumped forward, put his head in his hands, and groaned. 

“Was it that bad?”

Enjolras looked at him over his hands, studying him for a beat, before he started towards his car. Grantaire followed. 

When they were both sat in the car, the doors locked and the engine started, Enjolras began to talk. 

“They invited family friends. Which would have been fine, but one of them was a friend of my aunt’s. She just kept staring at me the entire meeting, and I tried to ignore it, but she was also making really vague and homophobic comments. She came up to me after the meeting and just started pestering me about my parents and my family, and I flipped my shit.”

Grantaire could not help himself-- he snorted. Enjolras glared at him, and he held his hands up in an apology. 

“I just didn’t expect you to use that phrase. Sorry, continue please.”

They were driving by now. “She accused me of breaking my family’s hearts, and-- get this-- she accused me of making my mother ill. I don’t even--” he groaned, and he genuinely sounded like he was in pain. The sound made every hair on Grantaire’s body stand on end. “How would I even have done that? ‘Sorry Maman, I’m sick of your husband--” he cut himself off abruptly, before changing the course of his sentence. “I’m going to go live with my Aunt now. By the way, have some cancer!” He let out a breathy, bitter laugh. Grantaire reached over and rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“That’s really shitty, Enj. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras glanced at him, stiffened, and glared at the road in front of him. Grantaire withdrew his hand, suddenly aware of how tense the air had grown. 

“Sorry I keep unloading all of this onto you,” Enjolras said finally, his voice sounding forced. Grantaire looked at him-- really looked at him, trying to find any sign of emotion in the now shut-down man. All he could see was exhaustion-- from the way Enjolras’ shoulders hunched, to the way his hands shook as he drove. Grantaire felt helpless. 

“I wish there was a way I could help,” Grantaire replied, and that was apparently the right thing to say, because he could see Enjolras relax. His mouth was no longer pulled taut, and Grantaire could see the outline of his lips in his profile. Even like this, he was beautiful. Something pulled at his stomach. 

Enjolras pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. He didn’t move, so neither did Grantaire. His grip on the steering wheel tightened briefly. “Thank you.” 

And then Enjolras got out of the car, and Grantaire, as always, chased after. 

Enjolras was abnormally quiet when they got into their-- it felt weird thinking that-- apartment. Even his actions were hard to hear as they both got ready to sleep. For Grantaire, it was relatively easy to prepare for bedtime: he just shrugged off his shirt and pants and covered himself with a blanket. And that is exactly what he did. He closed his eyes, ready to sleep. Unbeknownst to him, Enjolras had stood near the side of the couch, in his pajamas with a bottle of wine in his hand. Grantaire did not hear him. Not his footprints, not his breath. But then he spoke. 

“Can we watch a movie?” 

Grantaire sat up, startled, before processing the situation. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” 

Enjolras sat next to him on the couch. He sat cross-legged next to him, and their knees touched. Grantaire stared at that point of contact, yearning and aching, while Enjolras scrolled unaware through his and Combeferre’s shared Netflix account, searching for a movie. He was wearing gray sweatpants-- Grantaire recognized them as the pair he had loaned him the first day he was there-- and a white undershirt. Curiously, he glanced down, and then he internally scolded himself.  _ That’s gross, Grantaire. Don’t be gross. _

“Is this okay?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire opened his mouth a few times. 

“This is fine. Are you okay with it?” 

Enjolras stared at him. “I meant the movie, Grantaire.” 

“Oh my G-d,” Grantaire’s face heated up, and suddenly, he felt a little more like dying than usual. Enjolras’ face, however, lit up. 

“What did you think I meant?” 

“Nothing. Please, let me die with dignity,” Grantaire pleaded. Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a beautiful noise-- airy and light, like bells. He could not keep himself from grinning like a fool. 

Enjolras looked at him, and they made eye contact. Though he had been teasing, his face was soft and he looked at Grantaire almost tenderly. Grantaire tried to look away, but could not, because Enjolras forbade him from doing so with his intense golden eyes. 

“Apollo,” Grantaire whispered, more to himself. Enjolras’ cheeks pinkened and he looked back towards the screen. Grantaire watched him for a few moments longer before following his gaze. 

They had not even opened up the wine when Enjolras had fallen asleep, not halfway through the movie. Grantaire made him lay down and covered him with a blanket. Enjolras sighed appreciatively in his sleep, and he curled up on his side. Grantaire took the bottle of wine and sat at the dining room table, where he watched Enjolras and drank for the next indiscernible amount of time. At some point, though, Enjolras’ sleep turned turbulent. He began to toss and turn on the couch as though he could not get comfortable. Then his breathing became labored. Grantaire stood, unsure of what to do. He was frozen in place as he watched Enjolras thrash around, pleading in his sleep. And then he stilled. 

It was the calm before the storm.

Enjolras suddenly shot up, his eyes wide, mouthing something. Nothing was coming through at first, but then Grantaire heard him faintly saying “no” repeatedly. Each word increased in volume until he was almost shouting. Grantaire ran over to the couch. He reached out to shake Enjolras, but Enjolras did not seem to notice. He just kept repeating “no” until his voice became scratchy and trembled. Even though it was dark, the faint glow coming from Enjolras’ computer illuminated the tears streaming down his face. His chest heaved. Grantaire placed both hands on his shoulders and shook him, desperate. Enjolras made a noise like he was choking, and then recognition entered his eyes. Then he looked confused. 

“Grantaire--?” 

Grantaire just sighed, relieved, and pulled him into a hug. Enjolras struggled. “No, don’t,” he said, his voice still trembling. He began to sob, and the strength of the sobs made him keel over. Grantaire moved away, wanting to respect his wish, but he was also-- obviously-- concerned. Suddenly, Enjolras looked up at Grantaire, his tear-brimmed, pink eyes wide. He got up and ran to the bathroom. Grantaire, stunned, stood only after the door slammed shut. He tentatively made his way to the bathroom, where he leaned against the bathroom door, sliding down until he was sitting against it. He could hear the sound of retching mixed in with the sound of sobbing. 

He hugged his knees to his chest and took deep breaths, calming himself before he began really panicking. He noticed the noises on the other side of the door had stopped.

“Enjolras, are you okay?” He asked through the door. As predicted, there was no reply. “Enjolras?”

The door opened behind him and he stumbled, not realizing how much wait he was putting on the door. He fell onto two sticks-- Enjolras’ shins. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire turned himself, and when that was not enough, he pushed himself up to his feet. He looked Enjolras over. The man’s shirt was almost completely soaked through. His hair was dripping sweat, and his entire face was red. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was still reliving whatever dream he just had. 

“What was that?” 

“Night terror,” Enjolras explained. He maneuvered his way around Grantaire and sat on his bed. “I’m sorry, I should have told you about them. I just--” he shrugged. “I thought I had gotten over them.”

Grantaire sat next to him, waiting for a few moments to make sure it was okay. Enjolras stared at his feet, not looking at him, but he did not protest. “Can I ask what it was about?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, silent. Grantaire nodded his head, accepting that he probably did not want to talk about it. But then Enjolras whispered, “My father’s attempt at conversion therapy.” 

Grantaire whipped his head over to stare at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. He suddenly felt sick. Enjolras did not meet his gaze. 

“What did he do to you?” 

“I don’t know,” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire felt confused and desperate. 

“ _ What?” _ he asked, almost pleading, anxious to know so he could help. He grabbed Enjolras’ arm. The man stiffened. 

“I used to know. Then it just,” he let the sentence finish itself. “Now I just get the night terrors, but I don’t remember them afterwards. Or not the whole thing, anyway. I just remember what he called it. I remember,” he took a deep, shaky breath, and slowly let it out. “I remember my uncle and my father laughing about it. But I don’t remember what was done.” 

Grantaire moved his hand down to hold Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras looked at him with wide, wild eyes. Grantaire realized, with dread chilling his blood, that Enjolras looked scared of  _ him _ . He quickly let go of his hand and stood, putting distance between them. He could feel Enjolras’ gaze goring into his back. They remained in their positions, silent, for what felt like ages. Then Enjolras broke the silence. 

“I have a date tomorrow.”

Grantaire’s head whirled. “Oh. That’s good?”

“I’m nervous about it.” 

“Why?” Grantaire turned around and looked at Enjolras. He was beginning to look more like himself-- just more tired. 

“It’s a coworker, and I’m not sure what my feelings towards him are. I don’t know what his feelings towards  _ me _ are.” 

Grantaire scowled and stared at his feet. “I hope you have a good time on your date, then. But why are you telling me now?” 

Enjolras let out a breath and it took Grantaire a hot second to realize that it was a laugh. “It’s a dumb reason,” he began, “but could you lay with me tonight?” 

Grantaire looked back up at him, trying to make sense of his request. Enjolras took his silence as a chance to explain further. 

“I probably won’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night, but having the extra warmth of another person with me in bed feels soothing.” 

Grantaire nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. He crawled into Enjolras’ bed, purposefully numbing himself, and laid down. Enjolras haphazardly took off his shirt and threw it onto the ground before he climbed in next to Grantaire. They faced away from each other, keeping as much space between them as they could on a twin-sized bed. 

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras mumbled, already sounding sleepy. 

“Goodnight, Enj,” Grantaire whispered back. 

The two fell asleep. 

Enjolras woke Grantaire up the next morning, looking confused. “Why are you in my bed?” he asked, and Grantaire was taken aback. 

“What do you mean,  _ what am I doing in your bed? _ You’re the one that invited me in here.” 

Enjolras scowled at him. “When?” 

“Last night,” he shook his head. “Do you really not remember last night?” Enjolras suddenly looked pale. Even the golden skin on his chest gained a new pallor. 

“Did we--?” 

“No, Enj,” Grantaire reassured quickly, though it felt like a knife. “We didn’t. We just,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. Then he opened them and smiled at him. “We fell asleep during a movie.” 

Enjolras did not look convinced, but he did not say anything else about it. 

“I’m not sure if I told you yet, but I have a date today around noon,” Enjolras said as he yawned and stretched. Grantaire closed his eyes so he would not be tempted to stare at Enjolras’ bare torso. 

“Good for you,” Grantaire forced a smile onto his face. Enjolras grinned back at him. “I hope you have fun, then.” 

“Thanks,” Enjolras touched Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire almost instantly leaned into the small touch, but if Enjolras noticed, he did not say anything. “I’m going to go make breakfast. Pancakes?” 

Grantaire grinned for real this time. “Hell yeah. Pancakes.”


	5. Short Chapter and Character Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire gay panics and get his hair done by Musichetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it has been a while. I promise my updates will get more regular-- I've been busy applying for colleges and doing schoolwork(and work-work, as a secretary). Anyway, I took some time(aka a few hours) from my day to imagine what Les Amis would look like in my fanfic and then create the ideas in artbreeder, so I included those images in this chapter. Next chapter will be from Enjolras' point of view, and was originally going to be apart of this chapter, but I decided it had been too long.   
> Enjoy!

"So you really don't remember last night?" Grantaire asked through a mouthful of pancakes, which he had to admit, were surprisingly good. 

"There is kind of a blurry thought of what happened, but otherwise, not really," Enjolras replied, only looking mildly concerned about Grantaire talking with his mouth full. "Why? What happened?" 

Grantaire looked Enjolras over. The dark circles and bags underneath his eyes were definitely more accentuated than normal. His normally golden skin had a sickly undertone to it that was otherwise hard to explain, and it definitely would not have been as noticeable to someone who did not know Enjolras. Even his blue eyes-- normally so full of light-- were dimmed. Grantaire frowned. Enjolras mirrored the expression, albeit with narrowed eyes. 

"You had a night terror," Grantaire told him, and Enjolras stilled. 

"Oh. Right. I kind of remember that," the blond mumbled, more to himself than to Grantaire. "Sorry. I get them more whe--" 

"When you're stressed. I know," Grantaire reached across the table and rested his hand near Enjolras', not quite encouraged enough to link their fingers together, as he would any of his other friends. "I just want to know if you're okay now."

Enjolras looked surprised. "I mean, I don't really remember what I dreamt about, and I must have been half asleep during the rest of whatever happened, because that's fuzzy too. I'm tired, though that isn't really anything new." 

Grantaire nodded, pulling his hand away. Enjolras' eyes followed the movement of his hand. The two sat there in relative silence. The only sounds between them were the noises that came with eating, as well as their breathing. Eventually, Enjolras cleared their plates. Grantaire followed him into the kitchen after he heard the sound of the sink. He knew enough about Enjolras to know that he was going to wash the dishes, but given the fact that it was already ten o'clock and his date was at noon, Grantaire wanted to help. He scooted Enjolras over enough that he was able to be the primary one in front of the sink. His hands were entangled with Enjolras' as they battled for the sponge; it was not a very big battle. Moreso, it was just the time it took Enjolras to realize what was happening. During this time, their sides were pressed together. Grantaire did his best to focus on the feeling of the burning water rather than the burning he felt elsewhere. 

When Enjolras got the hint, he pressed his hand on Grantaire's back, gentle enough that he could hardly feel it, yet there enough to make him shiver. He said a small ‘thanks’ as he passed and Grantaire watched him as he walked away until he disappeared behind his bedroom door. Then, Grantaire turned back to the task at hand-- the dishes. Luckily for him, there were not too many-- a few plates and silverware, one or two coffee cups-- so he finished them up relatively quickly. 

As soon as he was towel drying the last dish, his phone began ringing. 

“Allo, Joly,” he greeted through the phone. 

“We heard about Enjy’s little date! Want to come over and sulk?” Joly asked, his tone joyful even as he was suggesting Grantaire’s suffering. 

“How did you guys know?”

“Turns out, ‘Chetta knows the guy! She said-- what was it you told him, honey?” in the background, Grantaire could hear Musichetta’s voice, but he could not quite make out the words. “Right! She said, ‘Oh! My two idiot boyfriends know him!’ And they talked for a bit. He has the ‘Chetta Seal of Approval!” 

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Grantaire mumbled, and Joly laughed. He could hear his friend repeating what he had said to his two lovers on the other end of the line. Musichetta must have taken the phone from Joly, because her voice answered. 

“Don’t worry, R,” she told him. “He’s a nice guy, but I don’t think he is Enjolras’ type.”

“Oh?” Grantaire prompted her, intrigued now. 

“He’s American!” Bossuet called, and even though he must have been a distance from the phone, he was still loud enough to make Grantaire’s ear hurt. 

“Great, so if Enjolras falls in love, he’ll move across the ocean. That’s helping my despair.”

Joly laughed on the other end. “You think Enjolras would ever abandon his France? I mean, I’d say ‘You can take Enjolras out of France, but you can’t take France out of Enjolras’, but I don’t think you _could_ take Enjolras out of France. At least, not without losing a few fingers first!” 

Grantaire grinned at that. “You’re right. They may even lose a life." 

"Exactly! So you have nothing to worry about!" 

"I guess. I'm still worried about it, though," he leaned against the counter, ignoring the way the drawer knobs pressed on his skin. Once he could feel the bruises forming, he pulled away. He just needed to ground himself. 

"So," Bossuet had the phone this time. There was a lot of giggling going on on their end. "What time can we expect you?" 

Grantaire looked around, searching for nothing in particular. Maybe a clue of some kind, maybe a hint; maybe it will tell him to go back to sleep on the couch for the next week or two, and all of this will be a dream. Unfortunately, he only saw Enjolras. 

His breath left him. 

Enjolras' outfit was relatively plain. He wore black dress slacks and a short sleeved, paisley print, red button-up. The top two buttons were undone, which gave Grantaire a very nice view of Enjolras' throat, down to his collarbone. Moving up to his face, which was framed by perfectly and very intentionally styled curls, Grantaire noticed that Enjolras really looked _young_. Especially with his face, now slightly warm from his shower, and his rosy, plump lips. His blue eyes were back to being piercing, and Grantaire could feel them going through him like daggers.

Even worse yet, Enjolras' strong, golden forearms were shown, and his shirt squeezed his biceps in a way that revealed how lean and how strong he was. If Grantaire had less self control, he'd be drooling. 

"Uh… Grantaire?" Enjolras' voice cut into his thoughts. Grantaire quickly looked back up to his face, feeling his face redden. When Enjolras saw he had his attention, he moistened his lips and continued talking. "How do I look?" 

Grantaire gaped at him, brain short circuiting. _Like a god. Like Apollo, bright and radiant and handsome-- the epitome of youth and radiance and, and--_

"I'm going over to Joly, Bossuet, and Chetta's place," he blurted out, aware of the fact that he looked like an idiot. He was not prepared for the way Enjolras self-consciously looked at his socked feet, his arms crossing over his chest. Grantaire mentally face-palmed. "But you look great," in a bold move, he socked him in the arm and winked at him. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire walked out of the apartment, carrying with him only his phone. 

The trio's apartment was not far away. It was a mile, tops, so Grantaire tried to enjoy his short stroll. But he found that all he could think about was Enjolras; the way his gold skin contrasted with his red shirt, which contrasted with his crystalline blue eyes-- everything was so intense. His hair had been styled in a way to show off his sharp cheekbones while minimizing his high forehead. Even his lips seemed brighter than usual. A pit of jealousy formed in his stomach. Resentment flooded his veins. 

_This American better be worth his time._

When he got to Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta's place, the three were sitting on pillows on the floor-- they did not own a couch-- and munching on a cheese plate. Musichetta invited him into her arms and Joly and Bossuet gathered in, too. He may have been elbowed by Bossuet, who whispered an apology, but Grantaire hardly cared. 

"Y'know what would help keep your mind off of things?" Musichetta began. Her fingers were already gently weaving themselves into Grantaire's thick, curly hair, so Grantaire had a hunch. "I'm gonna style your hair!" 

Grantaire groaned, only for dramatics. When Musichetta dropped him out of her lap to disappear for a few moments, Joly poked at Grantaire's face. 

"I wanna know more about you and Enj's living arangements," he said. Grantaire waved his hand away. 

"I'll tell you when Musichetta begins to torture me."

"Oh, am I torturing you now? Had I known that, I would have grabbed my other kit," Musichetta said as she returned, holding a bin full of product under one arm and a spray bottle in the other. Joly turned bright red, but Bossuet was grinning. 

"I don't think we ever showed R that kit!" He exclaimed.

"R doesn't _want_ to see that kit," Grantaire replied, doing his best to look mildly horrified. Honestly, he was a little curious, but they could not know that. Bossuet made an exaggerated frown. 

"What kind of friends would we be if we didn't show you our super secret sexy BDSM kit?" 

"Good friends?" Grantaire suggested, which made Bossuet bark in laughter. Joly, looking ready to implode, suddenly dismissed himself to the kitchen. By the time he got back, Musichetta was already going to work, spraying and sectioning Grantaire's hair. He handed Grantaire a bottle of wine. 

"Okay! Now we can drink and discuss your issues." 

[The Characters](https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/e/2PACX-1vRNexvVSx2q89M9WbqtDIX4TmcmkFqz_T3E-J34nGGDKbEI_OlYcEh1HPw2uisn0a4cgL2S5PXxgIOv/pub?start=false&loop=false&delayms=60000)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm thinking about adding a bit more art to this piece, maybe just sketching a few scenes. What do you guys think? Let me know!


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